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Tag: fathers

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The Tracks Of My Father

After my father’s passing on September 1st following a nearly year-long losing battle to a debilitating stroke, Phil suggested, “You should put together a little road trip with some of your closest friends who knew your dad, and ride a bunch of the roads he and your mom rode for years around Georgia.” What a great idea, I thought, so here we were, a small cadre of my close and long-time friends, preparing to set out on a few of Dad’s and Mom’s favorite day rides across a weekend. There was no way we could ride them all in our short time here, as Mom and Dad traversed so many miles of back country routes across central Georgia, but we could hit a few of their favorites, then keep coming back to discover and ride more.

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To The Man I Never Met

This one goes out to the man I never met, to the man who read my stories, loved my work and now is gone forever. Your name was Robert Terrance Brooks Sr. and you were my editor Rob Brooks’ father.

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The Zombie Ninja, Pt. 2

Joining our squad of swift, veteran riders was my 16-year old son Matt, who earned his driver’s license and motorcycle endorsement simultaneously little more than a month before.  A motorcycle I nicknamed the Zombie Ninja was his mount, a Kawasaki Ninja 500R that absorbed parts and money like a giant, sucking black hole of bottomless misery until it roared to life just days before departure.  Before us lay the 30 miles of Canada’s 31A, technical tarmac where beauty reigns, crashes are frequent and speed is a punishable commodity.

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Biology and Bikes

Disclaimer: I am not my father.
It was inevitable that one day I would end up on a motorcycle like my brother, our father, and his father before him. We’ve always been more comfortable on wheels than in houses. Structures are fixed, and they eliminate the possibility that something exhilarating lies just beyond the next hill crest. Fate works in funny ways; from it you may run, but you can never hide.

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Spirit of 76

Too often, kind words spoken about someone are said when it’s too late. A memorial service is the wrong time to express the influence a person had on your growth, the way they counter-steered your development in the right direction, how they shepherded your life. I will not make that mistake.

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